


In Memory of Natasha Romanoff

by clarkesjade



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst, Death, Female Friendship, Female-Centric, Five Stages of Grief, Grief/Mourning, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-26
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:08:15
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22425322
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/clarkesjade/pseuds/clarkesjade
Summary: After hearing of her death, ten women deal with the loss of Natasha Romanoff.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 42





	In Memory of Natasha Romanoff

Helen Cho had been working on a new update on her tissue rebuilding software. Even years after she had introduced the cradle to the Avengers, it required constant work before it would ever be ready for public medical use.

But she had started slipping when a superior officer had stepped into the research lab, days after half the population had resurfaced, and announced the passing of Natasha Romanoff, Tony Stark and the Vision.

They never explained how any of them had died, really. They stated they had all sacrificed themselves for the world.

The Vision’s body had been brought in for examining. Tony’s body was buried by his family.

But there was nothing on Natasha.

For some reason, Natasha wouldn’t leave Helen’s mind. She’d only known the woman for a couple years way back, and even then, they wouldn’t talk that much. Natasha had seemed interested in her work, and she had sparked many conversations during the small breaks they each had. Her mind was fast and she had actually been able to follow Helen’s words. She had also been one of the only Avengers to visit her in her own hospital bed, while she healed from Ultron’s attack.

Sometimes when Helen was in her office, theorizing about her projects or when she was overseeing her own team, Natasha would leap into her mind like a bird, only to vanish again. The memories brought short but effective pangs in her heart, and the reality settled in further. She would never see Natasha in the hallways. She would never talk to the woman again. Never give her an update on her project, never see her arrive back after a successful mission. Natasha was dead. Her lungs no longer breathed, her blood no longer flowed, and the neurons, as quick as they had been, would never fire.

It simply didn’t work in Helen’s mind. Natasha had to be alive. She was the spy, the best spy, the brilliant agent who sported that elusive grin, as if she knew everything and you knew nothing. She probably did anyway.

So, whenever Natasha broke into Helen’s thoughts, it was always accompanied by the theory that she was alive. No body, no confirmation, right?

Natasha had to be alive, still wearing that fascinating grin. She just had to be.

***

***

Nebula had no time for grief. She, the guardians and the God were off in space, far from Earth and humans. She had always viewed the humans as weak. No, her father had told her the earthlings were weak. And maybe that perception had been cracked by Quill. Not really though.

It had been Tony and Natasha whom had utterly shattered it.

When she had been in the ship with Tony, she’d wondered if humans really were weak, as she watched the life slowly leave his body. But he had stood up to her father, used the force of six infinity stones and won. With Tony, Nebula felt respect. She had been there for his death, he had been surrounded by his loved ones, his last breath leaving him knowing the world and his family were safe.

But that couldn’t be said for Natasha.

Nebula had had no idea of the bargain on Vormir. She knew death lingered over the planet. But she never knew someone had to die to win the stone. And she had never wanted it to be Natasha.

It was an ugly taste that wouldn’t leave her mouth. The guilt, the sadness, things she didn’t want to feel, but things that stayed with her. It was an unclosed door that she would never be able to shut. It was her fault, she believed. She should’ve gone, she should’ve given what life she had instead. 

The problem was she knew she was no one’s loved one to be lost.

So, Natasha had taken the jump. She had dived into the abyss, not knowing they would win. She took a leap of faith for the universe, and that made her the bravest person Nebula had ever met.

***

***

The first thing Carol Danvers did after Tony’s funeral was head to a bar nearby. Not because she wanted to drink and wallow in her sadness, but because she just needed a damn drink. The beer sparkled in her mouth, igniting some feeling of life that hadn’t been there in the latest. She felt her grief in Tony’s passing. She hadn’t known the man too well, but enough to understand that he had to save the world.

It was Natasha.

She knew Natasha well. Over the five years they had met quite a lot, often conversing about their past. Natasha had never gossiped or ever truly opened up about her life, but Carol got the gist. Watching the woman slowly deteriorate over time had pained her. Carol had desperately wanted to talk to her, to care for her, but Natasha was closed and locked, never letting the pain seep through the cracks.

Everyone still saw how broken she was.

But she still left. Carol left her. When she had returned, she felt nothing but shame.

She should’ve been there. It shouldn’t have been Natasha. Maybe if Carol had stayed, maybe if she had gone with Natasha things would’ve been different. Carol would’ve saved her from whatever end Natasha had met that had taken her life so abruptly. Maybe Natasha might’ve been having a drink with Carol right now, and despite the loss of Tony, Carol wouldn’t have felt the crushing guilt that never abated.

The words circled around her mind, like eagles circling prey. She should’ve been there.

Carol gripped the glass. She wouldn’t get stupid drunk. That never solved any problems. But she just needed the fizz, the flavor of something supposed to be joyful and victorious. That might relieve the pain. But it didn’t.

Carol wondered if there was really a heaven. There were Norse gods after all, the idea didn’t seem far off. And it was that idea that Natasha still might alive in some sense, watching after her from above, not completely and irrevocably wiped from the universe, that prompted her to raise her glass in the crowded and buzzing bar and toast Natasha, with only two words.

“I’m sorry,” Carol whispered.

***

***

Okoye eyed her women carefully, analyzing their sparring. The country had nearly fallen behind after the decimation, and Okoye was training the Dora Milaje extensively. But she had incorporated a different style into the women’s fighting techniques.

It was the only way Okoye felt she could memorialize Natasha Romanoff.

Sometimes, before the decimation, Natasha and her teammates would visit Wakanda specifically for the White Wolf. During that time, Natasha and Okoye would spar together. Okoye enjoyed those times, they were equally matched, but Natasha tended to find a sneaky way to win. Though Okoye initially chastised those methods, she’d come to see while fighting the aliens that broke through their borders that Natasha’s methods were as effective as hers.

Okoye had lost many soldiers before both as a general and a soldier herself. She had evolved to tolerate the losses, and how their names were forgotten because it was seen as their job to die.

Natasha was also a soldier Okoye knew might be left behind, but not like this. Nakia would tell her in meetings that the spy community she knew would converse about the Black Widow, sometimes in relief she was gone, or with respect that she’d left the ranks. But outside of the shadows of the world, Natasha was still nothing but a ghost to the world.

But Okoye wasn’t a world leader, she wasn’t a celebrity. Outside of Wakanda and international military affairs, she had no power.

Despite the injustice, Okoye felt like she knew Natasha more than Natasha thought, and perhaps such grandeur and sparkling gestures were never what she wanted after death. Natasha prided herself in her mischievous methods and espionage tactics. Natasha loved being a secret, but during the five empty years, Okoye could see the stress of being a mystery woman weigh on her, when she simply wasn’t programmed to open up about her personal struggles.

Okoye tried to break through her walls, she knew the signs of a broken soldier, but Natasha refused to let anyone in. So, Okoye decided not to push for a flashy, majestic memorial service. Instead Okoye decided to keep Natasha in her memories in a way she believed in her heart would be something she loved.

Okoye’s training now included the famed Widow’s trademark moves, with the famous thigh grip move itself indeed called The Black Widow. Okoye hoped that the fighters of the next generation, using Natasha’s moves to succeed was what would make Natasha smile again.

***

***

Wanda Maximoff was alone in the woods.

She had no one left. Anyone she’d ever connected with was gone. Her parents, her brother, Steve, Natasha, Vision.

The deaths hit the same, they always did. Her anger flared in scarlet magic exploding from her fingertips.

This night, Natasha dominated her thoughts.

Wanda was far from civilization at this point. No one would hear her screams.

Her eyesight seemed filtered red as she snapped tree branches cleanly in half with her mind. It was the only outlet possible that didn’t hurt anyone else.

Tears streamed down her cheeks like flowing rivers, and the feeling was no longer unfamiliar. Her fingers clawed into the dirt under her as she curled up on the ground, feeling her powers surge around her, out of her control.

When she was working with the Avengers, years ago, she was trained. Steve and Sam taught her strategy, various military strategies and terms. But it was Natasha who taught her something different.

She had been almost excited to learn more about Natasha’s skillset. When they had met as enemies in South Africa, Wanda had peered into Natasha’s mind, seeing her past. She saw what Natasha was capable of, the hand to hand combat especially. It was exhilarating. The two had never talked about the experience afterwards, when they turned to allies. But when Wanda had spoken about her mind abilities, Natasha seemed unaffected, and had always treated her with kindness.

Natasha didn’t teach her hands-on fighting. Natasha taught her control. She taught her composure, multitasking, thinking with your head when you’re in the fight. Often Wanda’s powers would explode suddenly when she trained. It rarely seriously affected or hurt Steve, Sam or Natasha, and if it did, they never let it get them down. They kept going, keeping their composure, staying in control while Wanda matured into her abilities.

But she had lost that now. Any control or composure was gone, just like Natasha.

And all she could do was scream and sob to herself at the deaths of everyone she had loved, while her powers controlled her.

***

***

It was mid-November, and Laura Barton was scavenging the farmhouse, looking for anything out of place. It had become a recent routine, when her kids were back at school, to distract herself from the utter shock of Natasha Romanoff’s death.

It was a weird event, the act of dying, especially in the context of dying young. Especially dying willingly. Laura and Clint had held it together for Tony Stark’s funeral, but days passed after that, and Clint slowly fell into a deep depression. Laura loved Natasha, but she couldn’t begin to understand his grief. Eventually, Laura had sat down on the bed next to him while their children slept, and let him break down in her arms. He told her every last detail of Natasha’s final moments, things that he would never reveal to anyone, not the Avengers, not SHIELD, not the world.

Natasha’s death still hadn’t sunk in for Laura. Clint seemed to be making tremendous strides, he had even started smiling again, eagerly playing with Nathaniel. Laura’s older son, Cooper, and her daughter Lila had been told that Natasha wouldn’t come by anymore. Cooper had also processed the death, slowly, but healthily. Lila had shut herself in her room for a while, not speaking to anyone, but she too, seemed to be growing.

But Laura was still stuck in this phase she’d been in since she was told of Natasha’s death. Her heart still clenched when she realized every few seconds Natasha was dead. The reminders were everywhere. In the old drawings she and Lila would draw together, in the extra chair tucked away she’d use when she rarely stopped by the house for the day. It was in her youngest son’s name for crying out loud.

It hurt her, knowing what Natasha would miss out on. Natasha was a damaged woman who deserved so much love and happiness, and though she was a talented spy, Laura felt Natasha wore real smiles when she played with the children.

Laura still hadn’t gotten used to past tenses when talking about her. She missed Natasha so much, she desperately wanted her to stroll back in, hug an older Lila and cuddle Nathaniel, who she never got to meet. She wanted to talk to Natasha again, maybe Natasha knew how to deal with all this grief.

Laura knew her husband, and all his teammates, were well acquainted with death. Every single member had lost someone, once before, and they had all learned how to grieve. Laura didn’t. Well, her grandparents had passed, an uncle as well, but those were natural causes. Natasha’s death was cold, sudden, brutal, unfair, and just sad. Learning of Natasha’s death was the saddest thing Laura had ever experienced, and it never passed. One day, maybe, Laura would think of Natasha and maybe smile.

But until then, it was just sad.

***

***

Sharon Carter was not a writer.

So why she found herself typing up an article at two in the morning, she couldn’t answer.

She knew why she was writing what she wrote about. The injustice surrounding Natasha’s death prevailed her. The unfairness could be seen everywhere. Memorials, global funerals, monuments, eulogies by world leaders and celebrities for Tony Stark.

Sharon didn’t hate that part. From what Bucky and Sam had told her, Tony deserved it all for what he had had to sacrifice.

It was the fact that Natasha got nothing.

When Sharon had first come across the two, she asked if the Avengers already held a funeral for her. Their faces had blanked, and Sharon’s blood boiled. It wasn’t right, it just wasn’t right.

Many years ago, when her Aunt Peggy died, Sharon had made sure she was remembered the way she should be. With honor in her name and respect from the free people she worked her life to save. Sharon spoke about her Aunt’s accomplishments time and time again, refusing to let the stories disappear.

Sharon supposed that was why her fingers were furiously tapping on the keys, rushing out an essay on Natasha for the world to see that she should be remembered.

The world knew the Black Widow. They didn’t know Natasha Romanoff.

Sharon’s fingers slowed, and her eyes started watering. She clicked back up to the intro sentence, deleting it and starting over.

_Natasha Romanoff is…_

Sharon closed her eyes, trying to stop the crying for once.

Natasha Romanoff is dead. Natasha Romanoff is gone. Natasha Romanoff took her life for the world.

Sharon will never see her again. Sharon will never see that woman quickly think up a plan. She will never see her eyes glitter when she figured something out. She will never see her kindness and empathy, something you thought you’d never see in a killer spy. But it was there, a strong warmth and a friendliness she never denied having, and it made Sharon feel safe with her. She would never see Natasha fight, strike, win, never see her perform that scissor kick that Sharon loved so much. She didn’t fight to kill, she fought to protect.

And damned if Sharon would let the world just forget about Natasha and never hear that side of her.

Sharon began typing again, smiling sadly at the words.

_Natasha Romanoff is a hero. She always has been._

***

***

Natasha Romanoff probably thought she'd had Pepper Potts fooled.

Over ten years ago, when she had sneaked into Stark Industries, pretending to be an assistant, Pepper knew there was something off. Natalie Rushman had been too perfect an assistant. But even then, Pepper was also sure that Natasha at that time knew she was on to her. Part of that might’ve been Pepper telling her she was suspicious.

That wasn’t it though.

It was in these past five years. More than occasionally, Natasha alone would stop by the cabin, brandishing a soft smile and eager to play with Morgan. At first, she and Tony had been nervous. An assassin babysitting wasn’t something you really ever heard of. But it worked. Morgan loved Natasha. Morgan was like her little sister, and Pepper could see just how much it meant to Natasha getting to be with their daughter.

Sometimes Tony would ask her what was happening at the compound, when the three of them would have dinner. Natasha would reply saying everything was fine. Tony would ask her how everyone on the team was, and he was adamant about knowing how Steve was. Natasha’s answer was she hadn’t spoken to anyone in a while.

Pepper never found out if Tony saw through her. But Pepper did. Natasha was an enigma, but Pepper had cracked her a while ago.

Pepper could see the deep, dark circles under her eyes, her hollow cheeks, the cracked, fake smile she would put on when she greeted them. She noticed the way Natasha frowned momentarily when she was asked about the team. Pepper never pressed it, knowing better than to ask. But she regretted that now.

Not for the reasons some might think. Pepper always knew those two, Natasha and Tony, were gonna get themselves killed eventually. They would hate that she compared them, those two were like siblings, but they were both reckless, both too eager to dive into some suicidal mission headfirst when it came to saving the world. She didn’t think talking to Natasha would have saved her life.

She regretted not talking to Natasha because she knew how Natasha had died. She had died alone, not knowing if she had successfully saved the universe. And perhaps if Pepper had talked to Natasha, told her she knew Natasha was horribly depressed, Natasha might not have died so desperate for death itself.

Morgan asked about Natasha, a lot. And Pepper told her. She would smile and whisper goodnight stories about the woman, how heroic she was, how smart and incredible she was, how the two breathe right now because of her, because she refused to let Natasha die a second time. 

***

***

Maria Hill hit the target again. And again. And again. Over and over, until the bullets ran out of every gun she used at the shooting range.

The rush of firing a bullet seemed to relieve her for only moments, but the anger returned soon after, unrelenting in its weight.

Weeks had passed since she’d discovered Natasha had died. Maria knew that all top agents meet their fate eventually. She had felt the grief of many of her own agents die in missions. It lasted momentarily, before she moved on and understood death is part of the job. But with Natasha, it wasn’t going away. No matter the guns she fired, the punching bags she decimated, the missions she reigned victorious over. She couldn’t shake the fury.

Maybe the problem was Maria didn’t even know why she was angry.

Maria doubted her presence could’ve turned the tides. She was good, but Natasha was something else. If Natasha couldn’t escape the situation, Maria probably wouldn’t have either.

No, it wasn’t that.

It was the fact that she had woken up from a moment’s slumber, and discovered her best friend was gone forever. No goodbyes, no body, nothing. No funeral.

How badly Maria wanted Natasha to know that she felt sorry, she felt grief, she felt pain at the woman’s death. She needed Natasha to know that Maria cared for her, that Maria wanted her to come back. That there was someone waiting for her.

But Natasha would never know. She was dead, and all that wit, that cunningness, that capability Maria had so admired and treasured, would never return.

Maria didn’t cry, but she sobbed.

In the movies, people seemed to get out their grief in forms of rage, lashing out at anything they could to physically release the pain until they were exhausted. But Maria kept pushing, hoping each punch might chip away her own grief bit by bit.

It didn’t work, but she kept at it anyway.

***

***

Yelena Belova knew death well.

It was the end she knew she would meet one day, as a spy. One day, something stronger, smarter, better than her would finally kill her. That day had not come for Yelena yet. But it had come for Natasha.

For Natasha, that thing had been heroism.

Yelena always knew that would be Natasha’s way out of this world, ever since Natasha told her she had wanted to be more than just a trained killer.

Yelena continued trudging through a village in Russia, looking for the perfect spot.

She could never figure out her feelings for Natasha. Yelena loathed her, but overtime, almost…respected her? Natasha was talented, obviously, but so, so annoying. She was Russian, and American, she was a soldier then a spy… She was a cold, calculating, pragmatic hunter, but she was also stupid, dorky and weird.

She didn’t know what to call it, morbid curiosity, maybe, but Yelena never found out what really took Natasha’s life. The news, for how quickly it spoke about it, said the Black Widow had sacrificed herself for the universe.

Yeah right, Yelena thought.

Natasha was stupid, for ever believing she could be the true hero her teammates were viewed as. To the world, she would never stop being an untrustworthy, unreadable femme fatale. Natasha was not a hero, though she wanted to be. Natasha was their scalpel, their tool, she was used to fight the dirty battles no one else wanted, and she took them with her head held up.

Yelena felt pity for the woman. All her life since Natasha had joined the Americans, she’d wanted to do better. And even after paying the ultimate price for heroism, the world still didn’t care. They brushed her aside, they tossed her away like a defective tool. She wasn’t the glamorous, moral, upstanding hero the world wanted. Natasha was complex, she was complicated, and she was human.

And she wasn’t good enough.

Yelena wanted to ask Natasha if this had really all been worth it. Losing your life for nothing, no gratitude, no praise. Natasha would probably answer with some American propaganda line, like, ‘that never matters, it’s saving the people you love’. Natasha had always been soft like that.

And even though Yelena cursed Natasha for being like that, she cursed the world more for not giving her the appreciation she earned. She saved the universe, the damn universe, and no one cares, not even her own Avenger teammates.

Yelena approached a patch of soft dirt in the trees of Natasha’s home country, and slowly, gingerly, dug a small hole. She carried nothing but a simple red rose that she’s seen along the way. A red rose she intended to bury, for Natasha, because no one else had done a damn for her.

Like a rose, Natasha was a treasure, but she was treated like nothing but a beautifully dangerous thing, just because of a few mere thorns.

And though Yelena still would never admit any positive emotions about Natasha, she still spoke one line before she left the burial.

“You deserved better.”

***


End file.
